


Quasars

by vanishing_apples



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, in which nerd boy faa and popular jock (?) belial plot to raid area 51, or something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 05:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19940950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishing_apples/pseuds/vanishing_apples
Summary: Lucilius knows for a fact that aliens exist, he just needs help finding them.





	Quasars

>   
>  _Right parts?_
> 
> _Right._
> 
> _OK ;) Caramel frappe or black coffee?_
> 
> _Whatever. Just need energy._
> 
> _LOL kk. Anything else?_
> 
> _Dont. forget. PARTS._

“Belial! Peel your nose off that screen, we’re moving!” - Bellows one of the misfits, his engine growling in accord. 

Belial clicks his tongue. A hasty ‘Sure, darling’ is punched into his keyboard with mild agitation. But by the time his phone returns to his denim jacket’s pocket, all gripe has vanished from his features. Belial looks up to his clean shaven, leather fitted clubmates with an almost cocky placidity that is normative among them. 

“Sorry fellas. Big plans with the sweetheart tonight. Supposedly. I have no clue what he has in mind to be honest.” - He chuckles, exuding a charm so devious it easily prompts others to laugh along with him. - “And he would throw a mighty fit were I ever to take over five seconds to reply, you know.”

Not every member of the automobile club slash motorcycle gang is taken with his jest, however. A few of them roll their eyes, others even sneer with revulsion. One from the latter group scoffs. 

“Sweetheart? Yer still hanging around that freaky dweeb?”

“Yeah!” - Another pipes up from his vehicle’s seat, balancing himself on its footrests. - “That nerd gives me the creeps! He’s so damn pale, doesn’t react to anything or anyone when he _does_ show up for class like once in a semester. He’s like a goddamn ghost or something!”

“Were it not for you, Belial, we would have given the little weirdo a good tussling long ago, grind that cheeky attitude to dust.”

Belial only smiles. None of the other bikers notice how the smile is frozen to his face’s lower half. He reclines slightly on the spacious back of his own vehicle.

“Love works in mysterious ways, boys. Loosen up a bit and maybe it’ll work in your favour, too.”

“Tch. Yeah, right! I don’t want to end up with a cursed bedsheet like you did!”

The group explodes into uproarious laughter. Belial even laughs along at his own expense. As their collective mirth dissipates, one of them begins addressing him accusingly.

“Seriously, though. We planned this raid for weeks. You are not ditching us again.” 

“Aw! But Lucilius spent weeks planning our date tonight, too!” - He lies, feigning distress.

“Who cares, man!? We’re going. Now!”

“Yeah! Let’s go, baby!!”

As if on cue, over half the exhaust pipes present begin sputtering to life. The fumes they exhale mingle with dust freshly kicked up by whirring back wheels. 

Belial sighs deeply, but drape himself across his bike’s fuel tank without further protests. His gloved hands find the throttles, but purposefully, he hesitates in starting the engine.

A loud bang ensues, like someone has set off multiple firecrackers simultaneously, followed by heavy metal toppling down on asphalt and a high pitched scream. Then comes more cacophony of the same species, in roughly the same sequence. Chaos unfolds around Belial in a matter of seconds to panicked cries. 

When he next exhales, only a handful of the initial number of vehicles are left standing. The rest lays in pieces under hovering black smog.

\---

Dusk has long crept into nightfall when he arrives, unwieldy baggage and all. If the labour of hauling everything asked of him up a rooftop hasn’t robbed Belial of all breath, seeing Lucilius leashed to a chimney by his waist certainly does. Laughter leaves him in painful, sour wheezing.

“You’re late.” - Impervious to his assistant’s sorry state, Lucilius grumbles.

“It’s… not the easiest thing…” - Belial heaves, plopping two sizeable duffle bags onto the tiles. - “To drag your telescope... _and_ all these up here, darling. Here, your coffee.”

Lucilius’ eager fingers betray his stony visage. He swallows the cloying, almost syrupy caramel frappe in greedy gulps, leaving Belial to set up his telescope for him. Only when the deed is finished and Lucilius has felt adequately revitalised does he speak up.

“You’re wasting time. There’s too much atmospheric noise for telescope use tonight. Shouldn’t have even brought it in the first place.”

Belial can practically hear his jaw drop.

“...Seriously? You could’ve said so sooner.”

“ _You_ could’ve had better judgment. Did you not see how cloudy it is on your way here?” - Lucilius nonchalantly licks some sugary foam off his upper lip. - “And you dare call yourself my assistant?”

He clearly _has been_ distracted by the fatigue, Belial muses, from both the night’s atmospheric condition and something else. He has only just noticed how Lucilius’ line of sight isn’t quite right. Accusatory blue eyes are directed at him for sure, but their focal point seems to fall somewhere around the top of his head. 

Chuckling, Belial picks up Lucilius’ spectacles which have been dangling on his neck.

“Hold still, Cilius.”

Against his own annoyance, Lucilius obeys, even closing his eyes inexplicably. Belial has to resist kissing him square on the pale, unmoisturised lips as he loops the frame’s temples over his ears. 

Lucilius’ irises further resemble spherical oceanic fragments when his eyes open, magnified by the glasses. Belial’s fingers overstay their welcome on his cheeks. They are promptly slapped away.

“Maybe the clouds will clear up in a bit. I’ll just leave the telescope set up for the night.” - Finally settling down, Belial’s eyes wander to the curious arrangements his partners have made. He gestures at the cord around Lucilius’ waist and some unfamiliar contraption in front of him. - “...So what’s up with all this?”

“So I don’t fall asleep and send myself crashing.” - Lucilius yanks the cord to a small ‘oooh’ from Belial. - “And this is for detecting and deciphering extraterrestrial radio waves.”

“You just _built_ that all by yourself?” - Belial asks, awestruck. - “What about terrestrial radio interferences?”

“Filtered.” - Lucilius shrugs matter of factly, clearly unwilling to waste his breath elaborating on a tool, a means to an end. 

“...Damn, Cilius. I’ve always known you’re a genius, but this is insane.” - Belial laughs. - “...Wait, if you’re already done making this thing then what did you tell me to bring the parts for?”

What looks like a large rolled up poster is tossed his way in place of an answer. Belial unfurls it, eyes slitting in scrutiny under the hazardously poor lighting provided by the radio device’s screen. 

“A spaceship??” - His jaw falls agape. 

“So?” - Lucilius raises an eyebrow.

“Cilius! I can’t keep nicking bike parts and engines until you successfully tinker a _spaceship_!”

Belial’s yapping is beginning to grate on Lucilius’ nerves. Should he not be singing praises at his masterpiece? Or at the very least, has anything constructive to say?

“If you see any problems with the design, just spit it out.” - Lucilius grunts sullenly.

“Oh my…” - Belial sighs. - “Silly Cili… The problem isn’t technical but social, love! My conspiracy theory about sabotage from rivaling bike gangs has a shelf life, you know, even among such brainless clowns. Besides, only a fraction of everything you need here _can_ be nicked from their vehicles, others are…”

The look on Lucilius’ face stops Belial dead in his tracks. It’s not his usual petulant thinned lips, nor are there the flared nostrils meant to convey every morsel of his annoyance. There is only a chilly, palpable _disappointment_. 

He should have known better, that everything he just said is within Lucilius’ calculations. He adds no value by complaining. 

Belial is suddenly acutely aware: He has only been allowed witness to this scheme by Lucilius. He is a mere adequately useful passenger, not a copilot. It is hubris to think himself relinquished any control. If he’s not up to the task, Lucilius will simply find away by himself.

“Ah~. Alright, I get it. Forgive me.” - Belial scratches his head, doing his best to sound apologetic. The sheer condescension on Lucilius’ face is almost too entertaining, too exquisite to elicit any real guilt. - “I’ll think of something… Maybe help optimise this design for not only efficiency but also cost.”

Lucilius’ fair features marginally soften, to Belial’s relief. His beloved prodigy may be spiteful, but he is not one to waste energy on prolonging frivolous emotions. 

With a reverence that borders on idolatry, Belial lifts Lucilius’ hand to his lips. 

“Mark my words: I shall bring you to the end of the universe, so long as you will it.”

“Pfft.”

It’s been some time since such hearty laughter from Lucilius last graced his ears. It’s guttural, eerily deep as a combined consequence of Lucilius’ effort to lower his own voice and his habitual soda intake. It would sound either threatening or ridiculous, or both, to anyone other than Belial, who currently goes so far as to close his eyes reveling in what he personally perceives as heavenly music. 

“Fair enough. Start making good on that promise, then.”

“Aye aye.”

They begin working on separate tasks in silence. Lucilius keeps a vigilant eye on the gridded digital display of his radio device, eyes watering from strain. Belial’s attention is divided between watching over his sleep-deprived partner and the blueprint. 

The hypothetical spaceship is astonishingly well thought out, especially coming from someone with little to no expertise on mechanical engineering until… what… two weeks ago? Even that is mere approximation. Lucilius learns at such a supernatural rate that Belial can’t even keep track of what he does know at any given point. The design is already impeccably streamlined and optimised. What modifications Belial _can_ offer are but downgrades - compromises necessary for the thing to be made a reality at all.

The cloudy sky finally splits open at hairline fissures, blessing them with welcomed slivers of the dauntless moon behind it. A dewy gust sweeping the landscape helps widen the tears. Then comes another, and another, rattling stripped branches as they go. Before long the brighter stars can be seen twinkling meekly beside a veiled glowing crescent. They’re still far from the clarity required for telescope usage, but the night has turned remarkably more pleasant. 

Pleasant enough for Lucilius to nod off, nearly roll down the slanted rooftop, get caught and swaddled in a thin blanket by Belial before the cord can cut into his waist. All in a matter of seconds. 

Belial reckons this is a good time to resume conversation if just to help keep Lucilius awake. 

“Hey, Cilius.” - He starts, chin resting on Lucilius’ head as he spoons the young man. - “Since you already have this whole spaceship project set in stone, I guess you’ve already figured out where those aliens are?”

“I have an informed approximation.” - Lucilius yawns. - “It’s called maximising efficiency. Building the spaceship takes time. Time that can also be used to solidify an approximation into an indisputable conclusion… We might not know exactly where, but I _know_ aliens are out there.”

“Mind sharing why you’re so certain?”

A passing owl’s nocturnal cries stills Lucilius’ lips. The true reason stops halfway rolling off his groggy tongue. Between the realms of sleep and wakefulness, he can practically trace its angular, fuzzy outline under his eyelids - the prismatic pyramid which traps light and an unsettling reminiscence at its core. Even more affectively rousing is the _lifeform_ that so frequently accompanies it in plaguing his dreams. 

How he knows it to be a lifeform despite never having seen it in any degree of detail, for the figure is perpetually cloaked in blinding light. Lucius can only chalk such knowledge up to intuition. 

But would simple intuition be able to account for the painful nostalgia associated with it? The perplexing, debilitating sense of familiarity that consumes him every time he is bathed in light radiating from the figure? The sense of belonging, of acute _knowing_ akin to looking at an astoundingly clear reflection of himself each time he lays eyes on the creature? Or the unwavering certainty that his dreamscape lies somewhere out there in space?

He wants to make his intuition accountable. No, he _needs_ to. It must be an extension of his intellectual capacity. He must have intuitively worked out a rational answer that now lies embedded in the fabric of his powerful subconscious, waiting to be picked up and realised by his waking mind. There is no correlation, let alone similarities, between Lucilius’ experience and the so-called divine revelations - incomprehensible gibberish that his religious zealot of a father often spews. Nothing to do with baseless superstition that he can’t stomach. 

“Hmph. Given the vastness of this universe alone, then taking into account the probability of countless other universes, it would be an impossibility for aliens _not_ to exist.” 

“But wouldn’t that make the nonexistence of aliens a possibility as well?” 

“...Technically, yes. But then it will be one possibility among an infinite number of others in which aliens _can_ exist.”

Belial makes a small noise of admiration.

“Man, you really are a genius.”

A long pause ensues, Lucilius turning more drowsy by the second. The radio device carries on with its monotonous, uneventful beeps until Belial’s voice drowns it out once more. 

“...Really, though. What if there are no aliens? What will you do then?”

The silence abnormally thickens this time, coagulating to a chilling halt. Lucilius neither speaks nor moves, but his stiffened frame tells Belial that he is fully awake. 

Lucilius is rigid with cold anger. 

“Sorry, sorry! That was a little too far, I gotta admit. No need to get angry.” - Belial nuzzles his irate partner in an attempt to pacify him. - “It was a joke. You know I would never doubt your conviction.” 

_Do I?_ \- is how Lucilius would rebuke Belial, were his leadened eyelids not so adamant about pulling shut. Even Lucilius’ rage is no match against four days worth of sleep debt catching up to him. 

It’s strange, despite Lucilius’ unspoken inquiry, something within him has already acknowledged its frivolity: Belial’s loyalty need not be questioned. Even his assistant’s impertinence, as much as it annoys Lucilius, is also but harmless banter. For all of his cunning and morally ambiguity, Lucilius knows he will find such safety by no one else but Belial. Maybe this certainty, too, is part of his intuition. 

“Cilius?” - Belial asks when he feels the weight of Lucilius’ head shifts, now resting entirely on his chest. - “Cili, are you finally asleep?”

Only the radio device’s staccatic beeps respond. Lucilius’ breathing has slowed as it pools warmth into Belial’s neck. The latter chuckles, steadying his body so its tremors do not shake his partner back into wakefulness. 

“Hah~. What would you do without me?” 

The cool breezes finally rip the clouds wide enough open to allow a curtain of light to descend upon them. For a moment, Belial’s breath stays trapped in his lungs. Lucilius under the moonlight seems to glow silver in his arms. 

“...Conversely, what would I do without you?” 

The night stirs with wonder. Leaves rustle with a strange urgency; the clouds seem to scurry out of a specific patch of sky as if by demand, as if to escape; and the mildly turbulent air completely stills. The stars now twinkle above them in all of their glory.

Lucilius’ eyelids twitch, sensitive to the unearthly turquoise tint the light draping over them has taken on. His ethereal luminosity dims next to that of the being cradling his body, though Belial would argue otherwise. No stars shine as brightly as Lucilius, not ones at the farthest reaches of this galaxy or any other.

The radio device’s beeps accelerate into a near monotonous, ear-piercing ring, its gridded display flashing wildly. But Lucilius’ slumber would not be disturbed. 

“Hey, Cili? I was half serious about that question, though not necessarily in the way you would think I was.”

Belial’s pupil-less, bone white eyes narrow in a blissful smile, one finger lovingly brushing at Lucilius’ pale cheek.

“I just didn’t enjoy being called an ‘alien’, you know? Well, it is technically correct from your kind’s perspective, but it just makes me feel distant from you! Not a very nice feeling for someone who has already sworn to be by your side for all eternity.” 

Lucilius stirs, his slender fingers tightened around the fabric over Belial’s chest as if responding to his words. Belial resists the urge to squeeze that hand with his own.

“What I wouldn’t give to wake you up right now… I can, but you’d immediately want to cut me up, shred my cells, run tests, all that scientific jazz. And helpless ol’ me would never be able to say no to satisfying your voracious needs! It’s hard but I’ll do my best to be a good boy, set my eyes on the prize of delayed gratification.” 

Laying both of them down flat against the rooftop, Belial pulls the blanket closer around Lucilius’ unconscious body. He basks in the way Lucilius’ heartbeat and the frequency of radio waves emanating from himself begin to overlap.

“Until you become fully repulsed by your own kind, until you’re weary of this dull little rock, I’ll help you find our perfect spot in this universe. Somewhere you will feel truly belong. Our world.”

Lucilius’ chapped lips are chilled but soft against Belial’s. The clouds start closing up, but their synchronised vibrations pay them no heed as they ripple into the cosmos.

**Author's Note:**

> Pls look at my amazing friend’s art I stole this idea from her https://twitter.com/089kiikunn/status/1151098272863272960?s=21


End file.
